The Many Revelations of Ronan Lynch
by Silent Searcher
Summary: Adam has known Ronan for a few years now. However he has found that he knows very little about the boy who is more 'Raven Boy' than Adam or the rest of his friends. Can he ever really understand the complex creature that is Ronan Lynch.
1. His Music Taste

**Author's Note: Hey Guys! This is going to be a series of one-shots based off of the antics of the Raven Boys; specifically Ronan and Adam. The books hint that they get up to dangerous stunts but only a few are actually featured in the series. Hope you guys like them.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Raven Cycle.**

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"Why did I let you talk me into this?" Adam Parrish was currently sitting on a desk chair; nothing strange there you say. This desk chair however was tied via bungee cord to the bumper of Ronan Lynch's shark like BMW. The aforementioned Lynch was securing the cord around the tailgate; a grin uncharacteristically plastered on his face - the vision of him convulsing on the church pew was still vivid in Adam's mind.

No answer was offered to him; instead Ronan opened the driver's side door. Noah appeared at his shoulder; grinning wildly.

"Noah, take the wheel." Then to Adam, "Get off your ass a moment Parrish." He advanced toward Adam. The boy stood, wondering what the other was doing. Ronan just sat down on the chair then gestured for Adam to retake his seat; this time on Ronan's lap. The prospect of being in such close proximity with another person unnerved Adam; the fact that it was Ronan terrified him. He found himself pulled onto his seat by strong arms. He was held in place – he didn't struggle much since his attempts would be futile due to Ronan's notorious reputation as an adequate boxer. He was easily overpowered.

Ronan pressed against him from behind; Adam leaned forward to regain a little distance but he was pushed back. The other's arms wound around him; keeping him stable in his seat.

"Go ahead Noah; give it the beans!" With that they set off with a jolt.

They rolled along; picking up speed. Tears pricked his eyes in reconciliation for the dryness caused by the wind rushing past them. His hair flew in all directions as the seat spun by some unknown momentum. He felt sick; he felt dizzy; he felt horrid. The sense of imminent failure that accompanied every stunt organised by any of the Aglionby boys had never felt more present. Adam waited for the pain, the crash, the injury.

The car park of Monmouth Manufacturing could not last forever and Noah was forced to turn. That was the only motivation the chair needed to tip its occupants onto the concrete. The floor came up to meet the pair as they cartwheeled along. To his surprise, Adam did not take the brunt of the fall – Ronan's arms shielding him from severe bruising. Ronan's body heat radiated around Adam; the ever present warmth shrouded him, keeping him safe. They stopped rolling after colliding rather harshly with the side of the Pig. The car was fine but Ronan's head gave a horrifying crack as it hit the metal. They had stopped. Adam's head was spinning and he was being crushed by Ronan but he was alive –another endeavour survived.

"Fuck me, Parrish."

"No thanks Lynch, I know you swing that way but I'm too pretty for that." The very heavy teen chuckled, the events taking their toll on him. Adam wanted nothing more than to get Ronan off of him so he could breathe again; partly because of the weight, partly because of the prominent closeness of the other. Ronan didn't seem in as much of a hurry. His face was buried in the smaller boy's shoulder; his arms still around Adam – the position looing in no way comfortable. He moved his head so he could look at Adam; his breathing causing Adam to suppress shivers. Why was it, Ronan could always evoke these reactions from him?

Adam turned his head to meet Ronan's gaze; immediately regretting the choice as he was now nose to nose with the altogether intimidating boy.

From Adam's vantage point, Ronan seemed calm and innocent. He looked so much younger in that moment. Adam wondered when he had last slept; charcoal smears dusted his cheek bones – the tell-tale sign of an insomniac. Ronan's expression was full of knowing; it was a fact Adam struggled to comprehend. He had made himself unknowable. He had kept himself hidden. So how was it possible for Ronan to understand him so much more than he considered possible? Ronan's eyes were so amazing up close, it's almost like Adam could see into his soul. The strength and assertiveness he had admired the other for blatantly clear. They were so close that the rest of the world was invisible.

They were both consumed by their thoughts until the stereo of the BMW began blaring music. The song being played made them startle and stare at Noah for completely different reasons: Adam – disbelief and confusion whereas Ronan – anger and betrayal.

_"__I'll misbehave if it turns you on._

_No Mr. Right if you want Mr. Wrong_

_I'll tell you lies, if you don't like the truth._

_I don't wanna be bad,_

_I just wanna be bad enough for you."_

Noah fell out of the car; hitting the floor with a thump. He clutched his stomach whilst his silent, breathy laugh erupted from him. It seemed unnecessary for him to be struggling to breathe – he was dead after all.

Ronan stared incredulously at Noah - judging him for finding such a simple thing so hilarious. He seemed oblivious that this new revelation completely contradicted his 'image'; either that or he simply didn't care. He glanced at Adam; watching his ration.

Adam stared questioningly up at Ronan. The boy who was as mean and conniving as a snake – listening to pop; the idea seemed preposterous. Ronan listened to Irish pipes and thumping bases; he did not listen to boy bands. It just didn't fit. Adam was struck yet again by how little he knew the other boy. He found this new development made him wonder what else would surprise him about Ronan. He smiled at the prospect of such discoveries.

Ronan raised an eyebrow at Adam's smile; silently accusing him.

"I'd like to say I'm surprised Lynch. But that would be a lie."


	2. His Worry

_**Author's Note: Hey, Guys. So, the Raven King was as heart wrenching and beautiful as we all knew it would be. I'm sad to see the series end but with the prospect of a further Trilogy on the way, I can't be too sad. **_

_**So this is set pre-Raven King and I decided to try and write a chapter without relying on dialogue. So here it is...**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own the Raven Cycle**_

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Adam Parrish never left his parents' double-wide trailer. Not really. Though his body and his possessions had been transferred into the apartment above St Agnes, his mind was still caught in the creaking cage that was the trailer park. The never ceasing black and blue and brown still clouded his vision. The inescapable haunting of his father's fists smacking into his face and kicks barraging his chest and belt buckles slicing his back, still ghosted his skin that had grown accustomed to the pain. Now, without it, his body didn't feel his own. Whenever he allowed himself a moment of rest or whenever the white noise in his left ear became all consuming and his thoughts too loud, he would find himself back in the trailer. Back in the Henrietta dirt. Whenever he looked at his hands or his face in the mirror, all he saw was the long faded bruises and the once-scabbed-now-healed cuts that had littered his body so often. The logical part of him thought it silly to pine on such things; his father had never held any affection toward him, so he should move on and be glad to finally be free of what used to be. Logically, his mind should want to discard all the hurt and fear and torment, instead to focus on what had become his reality. But no matter how unreasonable it seemed to his conscious mind, he always relived those moments like a nostalgic home-movie that only became all the more crushing with time. Home was home, even if it was a death sentence. His mother was still his mother, even if she had watched her son be mauled by the beast that was her husband. His father was still his father, even if he wanted otherwise. Adam knew that he would likely never be rid of his father or indeed the wounds inflicted upon him. But he'd be dammed if he let anyone pity him for it, and the best way to avoid pity was to hide the source entirely. So he smiled and played the game, pretending all the while that the world wasn't being coaxed into turning a blind eye to the weight of Adam's own mind slowly undoing him.

He sat at his desk, scrawling through a paper he needed for his English class. It wasn't due until the next week, but time was a luxury that he couldn't afford. Not yet at least. His eyes thrummed with the dull sting of fatigue, his skin pinching as it tried to drag him into unconsciousness. He allowed himself a moment, placing down his pen and releasing his eyelids, which sealed shut. There was a knock, short and impertinent. It was late, a quick glance at his crappy alarm clock told him it was 12:24 am.

Of course it was Ronan. Adam let him in without so much as a word. Returning to his makeshift desk, he chewed the end of his pen as he tried to continue. His limbs all but turned to mush, muscles going limp and forcing him to stop. Eyes sluggishly loped across the page, glancing for understanding that his fumbling mind could not grasp. He wasn't going to get any more work done. He tugged off his shirt and jeans, falling onto his thin mattress. He closed his eyes that stung from overuse. He willed sleep to come. It did.

Ronan Lynch was never one to listen to any attempts at coaxing, or indeed to turning a blind eye. But he had found himself doing so for Adam. For no other reason than his belief that, without the facade and the constant work and battles, there would be nothing to keep Adam from falling apart. Though he'd never admit to it, seeing the heavy slump of Adam's shoulders or the permanent stains of exhaustion under his eyes, made Ronan hate himself all the more. For Adam's was the kind of ingrained exhaustion that sleep wouldn't fix. He wanted to punch Robert Parrish, he wanted to do to him all the things that had been done to Adam, to make him hurt the way Adam had been hurt. It seemed only fair. But he couldn't do that, despite how much he wanted to. Adam would never forgive him if he did, for Adam was a truly merciful creature who would not harm even the hand that had never hesitated in harming him. It was what made Ronan both love and loath him.

He had slumped down onto the floor, as soon as he came in. He watched Adam with a sullen anonymity that only came when one falls inexplicably head over heels with an angel; futility and agonising longing made worth while only by the warmth from awe's merciful flame. He came to St Agnes for that warmth; he was angry because he was tired and he was tired of being angry. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to go racing. He wanted to hold Adam. He just wanted...

It wasn't uncommon for them to not speak. Words only got in the way anyway. Ronan didn't trust words, didn't like words for they could never explain the maelstrom of his mind. Closing his eyes, he let silence shroud them. The wind cawed outside, the occasional passing car berated the quiet, their breathing washed through the dark like the tide. The balance became distorted, the tide had changed. Breath once level and steady became corrupted by short fluttering gasps that caught with every other intake. Ronan pried open his eyes and shifted, now facing the slumbering teen. Adam's back was to him, head burrowed in the flimsy pillow, effectively stifling his sobs. His body twitched and flexed as if caught in a barrage that no longer came.

Muscle memory.

Ronan knew what Adam was dreaming about. He could see it lurking behind the other's eyes with every passing day. What was he supposed to do now? It had been straight forward to punch and kick and hurt Robert Parrish, saving Adam a physical onslaught. But this, this was not what Ronan understood. How do you fix something when the thing doing the fixing is indeed broken? How do you soothe away another's tears, when you yourself want nothing more than to break down? Ronan didn't know. What he did know, was that Adam needed to know that he was safe and that love existed and that he was loved. He needed to know, and he deserved to be shown those truths every minute of every day. A vocation Ronan would gladly partake in, if Adam permitted.

Reaching over, he laced his fingers with Adam's. He marvelled for a moment at the glory of those hands - the power they held both over the world and over him. Those hands could build beauty where there was once nothing. Those hands were miracles that ushered in brilliance with each generous flick of the wrist. They were hands that knew what they were doing, and knew what they had done and had the wisdom to show for it. They accounted for the strength and strain that it was to be Adam Parrish. God how he adored those hands.

Adam whimpered, tugging at his hands as if they were bound. Ronan felt sick. He released his grip, opting instead to rub Adam's shoulder in a gentle fashion. He whispered reassurances as the sobs drew closer together.

"I'm sorry." Adam's voice was begging, a plea for help that had come too late. Ronan felt sick. Melancholy punching into him, he hummed a slow ditty that his mother had sung to him as a child when he couldn't or wouldn't sleep. Adam slowly, subconsciously edged closer to him, seeking comfort in his voice and warmth. Ronan wrapped his arms around him, holding him as he had previously longed to do. Only now he wasn't thrilled or encouraged by the closeness. In fact, he felt hollow. Ronan felt sick. A bitter taste lingered in his mouth. If only he had saved Adam sooner. Adam's sobs wracked through both of them at such close proximity. Tears now meandered down his freckled cheeks to moisten the material of Ronan's shirt. Adam was whimpering and whispering again in a way that clawed at Ronan's chest and eyes and made his fists want to clench and his lips want to curse. But he only held Adam closer. Adam was all that mattered. All that ever mattered. Tucking Adam's head beneath his chin, he sifted his fingers through the other's dusty hair. Hands came up to clutch at Ronan's shirt, recognising an anchor in the midst of a tempest of memory to dream to hurtful recollection. A jolt and a gasp, then Adam was awake. Shaking and scrambling, his mind struggled to remember what was then and what was now. Ronan wasn't Ronan, to Adam he was Robert Parrish out for another round. Adam skittered back, fear raging in his eyes as he brought his arms up to protect himself. But the blow never came. Of course it didn't. When Adam dropped his arms slightly it was obvious that it was Ronan beside him. It had been Ronan the whole time. Anger spiked within Adam spurred by humiliation. Tears resurfaced but he willed them away; he'd cried too much already. He stared into Ronan's blue eyes, the eyes that always lingered on him with their yearning and their cultivated anger and concealed worry. Adam stared into the tempest of emotion and knew this meant something. He didn't know what but something was different. Ronan was a force of nature that could not be taken likely. Any attempt to do so would lead to being thrown overboard and discarded in the icy depths.

This was a storm that Adam would gladly meet head on.

They had gravitated back together as if it was the most natural thing to do. They held each other, different demons but both running, both scared, both lost. Taking refuge in each other, they drifted off into something that was not sleep but was not awake either.


End file.
